


How did we get here?

by samuraibeetle



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Crack Relationships, F/F, M/M, Multi, OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28450338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samuraibeetle/pseuds/samuraibeetle
Summary: A collection of one shots in which I try to justify crackships I fall in love with. This is mainly Becler and Parknova, however more ships might appear!Some of these one shots have an ongoing narrative 💀
Relationships: Russell Adler/Ingo Beck, Yirina Portnova/Helen A. Park
Kudos: 10





	1. Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I'm perfectly aware canon has no basis for this relationship. But this wasn't my idea. I just have Ingo as a comfort character so this ship was perfect, die mad about it. 
> 
> Also yes there are multiple parts, we're in a pandemic
> 
> Russell might be ooc? Idk I struggle to write him.

_ Was East Berlin always this cold? _

Adler seemed to note, crossing his arms. This was another one of his operations. East Germany, December 29th 1980. East German counter terroism unit members were involved with the rescue and escort of some sort of soviet package. According to the intel his superiors gathered, this had something to do with the infamous ghost he had been chasing for the past twelve years… Perseus. The name alone made the American’s blood boil. Every time he had him cornered, the Soviet slipped through his fingers. Every. Single. Time. 

The question that hung in the air, was what did the  _ Germans  _ have to do with Soviet packages, or rather, why was Diensteinheit IX tasked with this job? Now that, that was a curious case. 

So of course, a friendly chat with an old ‘friend’ for some intel always does the trick. It was always a chance to practice his German, which was always awful. Of course, this friendly chat was in the subways of East Germany, because nothing covert ever happens there, right? The winding paths and the stench of chemicals underground caused a scowl to form on his face, he simply trudged on through. Ignoring the sludge of snow and mud that seemed to crunch with each and every step. He loved that German, but he had to kill him for organising to meet in such a- for lack of better term-  _ shitty _ location. Why couldn’t he do the gay bar like last time? No operatives would be caught dead in there. That might be why, Russell. 

He descended the final flight of stairs before making a beeline to the corner where the radiator was, since this was the blueprint room for the trainline. 

“You’re late.”

“You made us meet here, I think we’re even, Ingo.”

Ah, first names. Nonetheless, the German in question rolled his eyes, heading towards the same corner to huddle up, it  _ was  _ freezing. The blond seemed to reach into his pocket, a scowl still present as he plucked his cigarette from the pack, ready to bring it to his- 

Where did it go?

He turned to see Ingo’s nasty paws on his cigarette. The same one he plucked from his packet, there was almost disbelief in his eyes, but Adler knew Beck enough to be surprised, so he decided to simply snatch another, bringing it to his own mouth this time, brows furrowed and the slightest hint of a smile manifesting. 

“I thought you quit.”

“I did, now I only smoke when I’m stressed. Unfortunately.”

“I didn’t know meeting an old friend was stressful.” 

Beck seemed to give him an icy glare, a snarl gracing his features. 

“You know exactly why this is stressful, cut the crap  Fotze.”

That part was true, Beck was here risking his job and essentially life just to give the CIA this piece of information. This- intel was worth his life and more. Adler simply shrugged, turning to him. 

“You seem rather reluctant to tell me. Just how important was this package, and why was your unit tasked to deliver it?”

The German took a drag letting his arm flop it gently smacking against the other’s. Letting the cigarette’s cloud leave his mouth, dancing and blowing as fleeting as ever in the underground air.

“Because the package wasn’t an  _ it. _ ”

He spared him a small glance. 

“The package was a  _ he _ . We were tasked with the extraction and movement of a member of Perseus.” 

He says, twirling the cigarette. Watching as the smoke would trail behind it, and embers would cascade sadly to the floor. The brunet simply sighed, turning to Adler. 

“You’re definitely recording this, turn it off for a second.” 

The American raised a brow. At this current second he was at the, for lack of better terms, beck and call of well, Beck. This was imperative to locating Perseus, the information he offered would make or break his current investigation. Could Beck of met Perseus himself? His heart screamed, but his mind kept him afloat. The Intel was the priority. Get the Intel by any means necessary, even by playing into his hands, it was always the priority.

"May I ask why?" 

"No you may not." 

Fair enough. Adler kept his guard up, being off record meant that there was no certifiable proof of any action, intel or sentence he said. There was nothing to back him up. But he was persistent, and Adler knew him well enough to gather he wouldn't get what he wanted by playing his game. He'd play his game, and he'd act coy. Nonetheless his guard was up, as per usual. 

The German's cigarette was discarded on the table nearby, before he simply turned to the American, watchful, almost chestnut eyes scanning him. His eyes seemed to narrow, dissecting him with each passing second. There were flickers of fire that appeared, and Adler noted his glasses always failed to hide that. Beck's mannerisms were always meticulous, always planned and never without motivation. 

"What do you want, Ingo?" 

He sighed, taking another drag. 

"You." 

There was a pause there underground. As the two men sat there in silence, Adler opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by the other's laughter. 

"I'm joking, it would be highly irresponsible for you to sleep with your intel source Russell." 

"You're not just my intel source-" 

He seemed to laugh a bit louder.

"I don't know, your persistence seems like you want to." 

It died down a little, before the brunet stared at his 'old friend'. 

"Ah, schisse." 

The brunet simply leaned in, gently embracing the blond's hands that cupped his face. Neither of their lips were soft, but to be honest, they never were. Not even when they first met. There was always a certain formation that would take place, Russell's hands on his face, and Ingo's hands on his waist. Damn, he never expected to still have butterflies for him, it's been what? A couple of years, and the two still had that connection. Honestly it was more surprising than endearing. Usually someone decided to travel, this time it was Ingo, who's hands wandered to his ass, and it wasn't long until he reached the pocket and pulled away.

"I thought I said no weapons." 

Busted. 

"Since you're breaking the terms of this meeting, I guess this won't matter as much." 

Russell was confused for a moment, Pain rushed through his body, as he instinctively went to push Ingo. But he always was just as strong as him, so he held the American close, holding the pocket knife that seemed to be embedded into his stomach. His struggling was futile it seemed, and the German simply rested his head on his shoulder. 

"You have 5 minutes before my unit swarms this underground complex and captures you for the Soviets, Russell" 

Ingo sighed softly, finally letting himself get pushed away. Russell tried to reach for the knife, but Ingo had placed it somewhere else entirely. He resorted to punching him in his jaw, which caused the German to seethe, but not enough to inflict rage. 

"Don't get  _ too _ mad, I didn't go deep enough for internal damage!" 

It was still pretty deep though, which caused Adler to respond with an angry grunt, as he clasped his hand onto it, scrambling towards the exit of the blue print room. Ingo simply watched him take off before reaching into one of the guard's lockers, pulling out an assault rifle. It was just as heavy as usual, and he seemed to smile to himself slightly. 

It was funny, seeing Adler scramble and run with recorded intel. Considering Beck had lied about that.

It wasn't entirely his fault, the Soviets backed a lot of East German military forces, the extraction and movement of the girl was another favour to them.  Diensteinheit IX didn't usually partake in this covert aspect, but the moment his superiors were notified of the American sniffing about, they were aware of Beck's past with him. It was fair game. 

There was still a part of him that was sad, of course. He did care for the American (hence not stabbing him at the point of internal damage.) But he couldn't get too upset. This was his job, and he had to do it for his people. He waited until he was out of earshot to begin his hunt for the blond along with his unit. He couldn't have gotten far, not when he didn't know these tunnels well. He marched on forward, his face slowly melting back to it's usual stoic nature. That's usually what happened when Adler left. 

He wondered if Adler would appear in East Berlin again, maybe not tied to the CIA. Maybe just to finish what Beck had started here. He didn't care how, just so long as he showed his face again, as all is fair in love and war.


	2. Tired

He never had gathered that a nuclear test site could be so beautiful. Not with the weapons of destruction tested at these sites, and the intention each and every tested mushroom cloud would convey. 

When his unit volunteered manpower to the Soviets he never expected to be dragged in the middle of the Nevada desert and his breath taken away, but that's what happened ever since East Germany became more militant in the Warsaw pact. 

Even with the sniper laid against the window frame, and with his right eye shut, and waiting, Ingo still had a sense of admiration for the graffiti that encompassed the site. The mannequins and how, peaceful they looked. It was night time now, and the two units sent here to secure intel had fought earnestly. There was only one capitalist left. All he had to do, was pull that trigger when they showed their head. 

So Beck waited, like the calm predator he had to be. Waiting, with his hand on the trigger, and his target in sight.

There was one capitalist left. 

There was a moment, before he pulled away softly, reaching for his holster. 

"You know, for the decades that I've known you, your footsteps are still  _ so _ loud." 

There wasn't a moment's hesitance, as he pulled out his pistol, making sure to aim it at his guest. His hold was calm, and steady. It didn't even seem to sway so easily, just static, in the air, and staring at the American in front of the barrel.

"If I'm not mistaken, I would've assumed you were waiting for me." 

"Maybe I was, Russell." 

There was a brief, still moment. Where the earth stood still. Sometimes Beck wished he adopted Adler's constant sunglasses, so that any emotion, any feeling he felt couldn't easily slip through his eyes. So he could maintain this distance, this level of apathy at the sight of him. Beck was insanely good at covering his emotions, it's something one learns in this career. The issue was, with Russell it was never solely about emotions. With Russell, even when Ingo stabbed him, or Russell punched him- when they fought- it was always 1961. It was always another countdown until the wall separated them, another countdown until he was redirected to Vietnam. A countdown until separation. 

It didn't take long for the blonde to rip through his thoughts, seizing his wrist and flipping it so that his pistol and arm was pinned to his back. The German seized his knife, slashing it manically but was only greeted by the thick sole of a combat boot connecting with his wrist. It didn't take long (as per usual) to be compromised, with the American seizing his hand, a boot on his back, the other on his left wrist. 

Laboured breaths filled the air. Until he spoke up once again.

"Why didn't you fight back?!" 

There was no response from the German, who's brows only relaxed, god, he was so tired. 

"Ingo, why didn't you fight back?!" 

"Why is it that we always see each other on borrowed time?" 

He seemed to mumble, and Adler kept his grip firm. Eyes narrowing under his shades. 

"When we see each other now, it's never because of anything else other than work. It's tiring, frankly." 

His voice didn't seem to hurt, or whine. It was a simple, sad inquiry. It reeked of his exhaustion. Ingo closed his eyes, letting out a gentle sigh. 

"I'm tired, Russell." 

Adler seemed to stare at him, even with his stature unchanging, his brain screamed at him. The man he saw today wasn't the same Ingo he saw in his youth. He needed to realise that. The wall, East Germany, it all changed him. He needed to stop chasing this pipe dream. 

But Russell never saw this evil communist, this enemy, hostile. 

He saw, Ingo. 

He always did. 

He wished Ingo took his hand that day, and chose to defect and leave his family behind. Start new on the other side. But Ingo loved his family, something he did not. He wished the wall never separated the two, and he wished he never went to 'nam. He could only wish, as those all happened, and those events drove them to who they were today. Russel realised in that moment, he was tired too. 

He gently let go, laying down next to his lover. Russell looked up at the dingy old ceiling, the crappy childlike drawing of the sun eerily reminding him of the sun that rested above the two when they had times alone in West Germany. When it was just them. But they got older, and so did the sun, who never beat down on them as joyfully as it used to. 

"I'm also tired, Ingo. So, I'd like to spend some of my borrowed time with you." 

There was a faint smile on the German's face, as his eyes fluttered open to gaze upon the blond. Something about the way his wrinkles creased and contorted told him it had been a while since he smiled like this. He seemed to chuckle, turning to look up at the same faux-sky. No matter what bloodshed the American endured, he always found a way to have his cheap cologne cling to his clothing. It was an enigma within itself, and Beck gathered he'd never find the answer. 

There was a comfortable silence, as Ingo snaked his hand to his, allowing them this stolen moment of affection. Just for once, before they had to go back to being enemies, back to pretending they hated one another. 

"Do you think- do you think we'll ever do it?" 

Ingo spoke up, leaning on his shoulder. 

"What we discussed in '61, the whole cabin in the woods? Just us?" 

Russell seemed to think, staring at him. There was a brief frown. But he nodded, softly, but a nod nonetheless. 

"I think we'll do it, maybe when the Wall falls. Cause when it does, I'll definitely wait for you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah no this one shot made me cry.


	3. His name was Russell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of y'all bout to be mad at me, but it must be done and it must be shared.
> 
> This is just a drabble I wrote but it applies to these two so I added it. 
> 
> No, this ship wasn't necessarily my idea. 
> 
> warning for implied nsfw

"It's hard to not get attached, Grigori." 

Ingo murmured, resting his head against the russian chest. Skin that was soft and tender clashing with his own calloused and scarred fingers, as he gently traced a circle next to his head. 

"He was my first, y'know?" 

"First boyfriend?" 

There was a moment, where Grigori pondered, and Ingo seemed to look up, narrowing his eyes slightly. 

"First everything, strangely enough." 

The Russian nodded, bringing his arm out from the safety and warmth of the duvet to rest it around Ingo. He peered down at him, the faintest smile manifesting.

"Do I have to worry about this American then, Ingo?" 

There was a brief moment, before Ingo flopped his head back on his chest, closing his eyes. He was tired, and he definetly had work tomorrow morning. He decided to focus on the way Grigori's heart beat, or the way the East Berlin streets would groan and croak with activity. He'd focus on the faint chill coming in, and how since the two weren't clothed, they'd have to huddle for warmth like some sort of penguin. 

"No, I shouldn't think so." 

Grigori tilted his head, noticing the sheen that covered the german's eyes. It was different to the sheen he had with him. He didn't know if he was disappointed or infuriated at the discovery. He shouldn't be, he was only in Germany to zero in on Kravchenko's facilities in Eastern Europe. Ingo was nothing more than an Intel source, but it was hard to not get attached. 

"Do you have a name, at least? I want to see what kind of man manages to get you so riled up- it's fascinating." 

Ingo snorted, smacking him softly, before turning to face the ceiling- eyes softened, but never towards any particular target. Not even him, but to his memories. 

"His name was Russell." 

Weaver paused, staring down in stark realization. 

_Russell Adler._


	4. Tired (continuation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another one shot that takes place after Tired, but like, I needed to write a segway between the two???? So like. Here's Tired 2.5

_ "Do you think- do you think we'll ever do it?"  _

_ Ingo spoke up, leaning on his shoulder.  _

_ "What we discussed in '61, the whole cabin in the woods? Just us?"  _

_ Russell seemed to think, staring at him. There was a brief frown. But he nodded, softly, but a nod nonetheless.  _

_ "I think we'll do it, maybe when the Wall falls. Cause when it does, I'll definitely wait for you." _

  
  


Ingo sighed, closing his eyes shut. A small smile on his face. 

"One can only dream, Russ." 

"No I'll make sure of it, just for you. Not many get that liberty, take it or leave it." 

The German snorted, a small chuckle coming as he turned to face him properly. He blinked, before rising. 

"Come on, the floor sucks." 

Russel looked at him from above his shades, and his eyes, which were always so soft seemed to narrow slightly. He extended his hand so that Ingo could help him up. The American was always taller than him, just a by a little, but it always caught him off guard. Ingo seemed to pause, reaching a hand out to just- anchor himself to reality- remind himself Russel was real. This moment was real, and that in this foreign, nuclear realm there was no us vs them, no war, no soldiers. Just them. 

It was borrowed, that's all their time was here. That was apparent when Ingo peered down to his shoulder, noting the all too familiar laser resting on Russel's cheek. Their time stopped, and it didn't take long for him to take action. 

"SNIPER- GET DOWN-" 

Whatever Russell said fell on deaf ears, as whatever bullet aimed for him was shot, the distinct thunder strike of a sniper being heard- echoing across the site.

There was no hesitation on his end either, as he took to staring at the German, who writhed, gloved hands pressed to where the bullet had skimmed on the back of his head. 

Suddenly, Adler lost his numbness to blood, it seemed to stain everything more than usual, it ran through tiles far quicker than he remembered. Nothing mattered in Nuketown, not the sniper, not the distant sound of a helicopter descending into the Nevada desert. Not his clothes, nothing. 

The only thing that mattered was Ingo, he was the only thing that ever did. 


	5. Tell me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh angst. :) after tired. I dont think there's a continuation but EH.

'Interrogation 45-AA-34. Subject B, 1984. Operator number 00-37-77 is initiating the interrogation. Recording now.' 

This was a long day. Adler seethed, leaning back in his seat as he took the time to examine him. The back of his neck was bandaged up, with the bandages wrapping around his neck like some sort of ivory chokehold. His eyes were anything but that, they were a nigh-red, shielded by framed glasses that seemed to try little to hide his flickering anger at Adler. Ingo could never give an icy glare, not even if he tried. His eyes always flickered with the explosions he usually defused. But, there was no defusion, just the cloud and the thunderclap that lingered, waiting to strike. 

He thanked whatever deity above that he had his sunglasses on. As he sat there, lips pursed, in thought. How was he supposed to approach this? The German didn't speak, and that terrified him. He usually initiated their conversations. But his silence was far more deadly. It was like, the only thing stopping him from exploding was the measly metal cuffs, which did very little to mask the way he cracked his fingers. Or the way Adler seemed to shrink under his gaze. The blond decided to break the silence, leaning forward. 

"What was your coalition doing on American soil?" 

There was silence once again, but Ingo's mouth finally loosened, as he formed his words. 

"Do they know?" 

He glanced to his right, the one way mirror every good interrogation booth had. Russel didn't like the smirk on his face, or the way his head tilted like a hawk hearing a rodent's heartbeat. Whenever Ingo smiled, he always felt butterflies in his stomach, they'd soar and cause his own smile. But this time, the butterflies had been shot dead, and all that rested in his diaphragm was a deep, dark dread, moths that ate away at his organs. 

"Do they know what we are?" 

"We're not anything." 

"So we're not anything when it benefits you, Russel, but we are when you want company, when you want to feel something, aye?" 

Calm, dissecting methodical. Like he chose his words carefully, each sentence a battle plan, and each word a weapon. Russel clenched his jaw, pushing the images forward of his teammates. 

"You're not answering the question Beck." 

"Tell me, what infuriates you more, that you've fucked a communist, or that a communist is the only thing that keeps you from being numb? Since I'm the communist in question, I'd love to know." 

"Answer the question" 

"Did you feel anything when I got shot, when I got dragged away by your comrades. Or did you think about how you had finally caught me. I could be your prisoner forever? Beauty and the beast, after all, you are America's monster aren't you Russ?" 

Adler seemed to grab his shirt, to bring their eyes closer as his brow furrowed. 

"What do you get out of this? Eh?! What could you possibly achieve from choosing to not comply Ingo?!" 

The German seemed unfazed, allowing himself to be shook. 

"I just love to see you squirm." 

He tugged himself off, flopping back on his chair. 

"I don't know why you're so angry, you finally get me all to yourself. After so long, it's all you wanted, isn't it?" 

Russel seemed to shove the images further in a desperate bid to generate an answer. 

"Do I make you horny, do I make you sad? Every emotion you wish you could feel with anyone but me. Have I ruined relationships for you? Every one of them, you think of me?" 

Ingo leaned forward. 

"How many times have you called my name? How many times have you danced to songs I loved, ate chocolates I like. Drank alcohol I like?" 

That was enough for today, he slammed his fists on the table and rose. He wasn't going to get any information out of him this way, he needed better conditions, he didn't even recall what Ingo just said next. Only hearing his fractured voice through the speakers. 

"Delete the audio." 

He hissed at the poor employee. Ignoring Lawrence who seemed to open his mouth, simply marching on, feeling nothing else, as always.


End file.
